A Heart Shaped History
by Pocky King Windy
Summary: Yaoi: Omi x Nagi, Yohji x Ken [Thanks to Chris] - Omi meets up with Nagi, and perceives the bitterness in him. Frightened, he ponders over his feelings. Though, bitterness can also sometimes be quenched with a bit of sweetness!


A Heart Shaped History

Disclaimer: Nope, the characters aren't mine. They belong to their respective characters. Your claim here, people!

Warning: Yaoi. If you flame, you're retarded. If you don't flame, welcome aboard mate! XD

Dedicated: To Chris. Yet again, I'm going to apologize. I still know NUTS about what I'm writing. Thanks for helping me out again? You're the best!

Plot Cockroach: I promised a sequel. Here it is. It's in the same sequence as the first piece, and perhaps as it stretches on, it gets a little bit later. All the same, I think this is a cannon pairing and I don't really enjoy it too much. I like weird ones, but I respect your liking! Anyways, not for me to judge! Hope this one turns out okay…

Pairing: Omi x Nagi, and a little bit of Yohji x Ken

______________________

It was frosty; it was cold. The snow fell gently from the sky, like little petals torn from a heavenly white rose. Each flake was a lace, thin and carved of ivory. White and pure, it was a gift from the faeries that dwelt high up in the clouds. The tiny crystals soon overlapped each other to form a dazzling carpet, covering the busy streets with its purity. Above, the sky stood still, faint stars twinkling, desperately trying to penetrate through the thick clouds of the grayish-black sky.

The people hurried by, not heeding its beauty, but rather, eager to rush home to the warmness and security offered to them. There were those that chattered gaily, passing by: there were also those that walked stiffly, quickly – they were in a hurry to nowhere. The shops were lit up with golden lights, and the rays pierced through the transparent glass windows, beaming on the white of the snow, lending it its glimmer of yellow.

He walked along slowly, with peace of mind. People never bothered him – they were, after all, just passing by. He had to admit, that working amongst flowers had really cultivated a love for these people – the innocents – he wanted to protect, and not destroy. And he had learnt to love festivals. These were the days when people felt more open to give gifts, or spend their entire savings just so to please someone they loved. Perhaps, there was still a warmness and love in this dying, artificial world.

Perhaps.

The skies were dark, crisp, and wonderful. The others could never really understand what he loved so much about winter. Generally it was spring that people loved. He loved it too. He loved all the seasons, winter, spring, summer, fall – he saw each of their distinct beauty, and the hope and joy each season brought with them. He continued on in his stroll, hands in his pockets.

The pullover he wore offered at least a small amount of protection from the cold winds. It was a light shade of cream blending in with his white woven fleece sweater, one passed down to him by his friend. His hands were gloved with green and yellow, as was his scarf. He wore pale blue denims, completing the outfit to perfection. His golden hair fell round his face, bouncing at each stride he took. They were luminous in their shade of yellow gold, though he saw it not – it greatly contrasted with the dark night, in a tasteful way.

A shop was brightly decorated, just a little ahead. Instantly he recognized it as the local sweetshop, and bounded happily towards it. He peered in, grinning. He loved sweets! Inside, there, right past the transparent glass, was littered with boxes of chocolates – one of every kind. There were those that were thick and dark, most probably bitter, some a milky brown, sweet, but not too so, and there were white ones, sugary, and they most likely tasted like milk and honey. They were strewn around boxes of gold, silver, red, white and green, colorful ribbons dangling limply, in curls, round the glass pane.

He knew how typically childish it was to like sweets of that kind so much, but he did, all the same. He loved chocolate, especially the sweet dairy-milk ones. He caught a glimpse at the imported dark chocolate on display, and his heart nearly skipped a beat. How expensive that was! He wrinkled his nose a little. How could anyone pay so much for a box of bitter chocolate?

Sighing, he pulled back from the window. It was starting to fog up, or so he noticed. Fighting an urge to grin, he straightened and started to walk away, before smacking headfirst into another person.

"I'm sorry," he heard a voice apologize quietly. It sounded genteel, sweet, and yet he seemed to detect a strange hollow bitterness in it. He looked up – his heart did stop beating for a moment. He had run straight on into an Schwarz member! Hesitating slightly, he tried to pry into the other person's eyes. They were kept low, and he could see none of it. However, he could not simply abandon his manners just because this person happened to be in an opposing team!

Besides, he had noticed the other from afar. They seemed about the same age. And perhaps, just perhaps, they lived similar lives – driven full of pain, yet happiness in their newfound families.

And perhaps, just perhaps… they could be friends.

"I'm sorry too…"

Almost instantly, the other youth's head snapped up, and marine blue eyes flitted up to meet his in a shocked gaze. At that precise moment he knew that he youth had probably come without so much as a thought on fighting, or any mission. Though, the boy was wary. The stranger began to falter backwards, about to scramble away before he could think of another reply. The fear in his eyes was evident. At once, the flaxen haired youth felt a pang of desperation.

"Wait…"

It was his own voice that he heard, calling the other youth back. To his utter astonishment and joy, he saw the youth stopping and waiting. Breathlessly he ran up to the other, feeling his cheeks grow warm from a heat – but its source he could not name. "Wait."

The boy stood still, a brow lifted. His hair was dark; the color of a red dusk turning into night, and his skin was fair and flawless in the inky darkness coupled with the golden gleam from the surrounding shops. His features were too sharp to be that of a child's, although his slight frame betrayed his age. Clad in a loose sky blue sweater and fitting jeans, a sapphire colored scarf and gloves; he looked almost ordinary. The blue he wore brought out his eyes.

The flaxen haired youth found himself staring. He turned red.

"A… ano …Why is it that each time we see each other, it has to be a duel?"

"Because I'm a bad guy," his tone was bland.

"Maybe. You don't look very bad, though," he said.

"Evil hides its face behind a mask of sweetness," his answer was relatively simple, straight to the point. The flaxen haired youth looked at him in surprise. How cold his tone was! It was colder than his redheaded friend's was – and that was a lot to say, so much for a youth his age. But as he looked on, his opinion melted into a puddle of warm chocolate milk. The eyes… they were so blue. Bluer than his would ever be – tinted with the maturity of one much too young to be allowed to understand. And yet it was there. He felt himself swimming in that never-ending, depthless gaze of sapphire – the seas of every kind.

A movement by the dark haired youth to fold his arms snapped him back to reality. "So, where are the others?"

"Huh?"

"Your friends. You know - the man with freaky red hair, the dork and the one who dresses like a tart?" his tone was still as insipid and cold as it was moments before.

The flaxen haired youth sighed. He knew that it was a direct, challenging insult, flung at him and his imagined companions presence, but he found it hard to take it, coming from the other boy. They seemed so much alike – the only difference was their outlook and they way they handled their pressure.

"I came here alone."

"I see," he said, nodding slowly. "So did I."

"My name's Omi."

"Well, hello, Omi."

"Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"

"You might have been bugged," the boy smiled grimly, his hands still folded. He seemed so icy, so unforgiving, that the golden haired youth felt an urge to burst into a flood of tears. He steeled himself though, and quite suddenly surprised himself with a question he never thought he would ask.

"Sorry, but may I ask you a question?"

"Yes?"

"Why are you so bitter… so cold?"

He was rewarded with a very surprised look coming from the brunette, and then a bitter smile. It was obvious that he had never been asked that particular question before. Omi felt an urge to kick himself in the head for hurting his feelings.

"I don't know… perhaps I learnt to be like that, when I was younger."

The blond knew that it was the truth – the voice he heard was not a lie. It took Omi ten seconds to fully digest the information. He swallowed hard, trying to hold back the words that he felt were rushing through his throat, but failed miserably.

"Couldn't you relearn to defrost a little?"

The smile grew wider, and the dark haired youth started, to Omi's surprise and joy, to laugh. It was cold, like the frosty snow, but sweet, in its own way, shining with faint amusement. He stopped, and glanced over the older youth with sparkling eyes, a sparkle that rekindled its lost light. "You never hold back, do you?"

"Not really…" Omi blushed. "Actually, not really, around people I like. I gush."

"Hmm, yes, you do. That makes you special, I suppose."

The red turned into a deeper shade of crimson.

"Well, I've always noticed you from afar, you know, when our parties have a clash. You're something like me, my age – perhaps we live similar lives, with the same kinds of pressure applied. I thought that we might click, were we able to meet and become friends."

The dark haired youth was silent. He finally spoke, after a while. "I'm afraid that's almost impossible."

Omi's smile faltered slightly.

"It's a dangerous line of work we're in. I simply cannot let us deceive our comrades like that. And we're different, you and I. As you said, I'm bitter, but you, you are sweet and innocent," he stopped short. Disentangling his hands from its fold upon his chest, he lifted it up to pat Omi's shoulder. "I said _almost_, anyway."

"Thank you!!!" Without thinking, the older youth reached out and grabbed him in a hug that squeezed his breath out. He then pulled away, his face bright, stained a light rose – and it wasn't from the cold. "I'm sorry… It's nice to have a friend that could understand you."

"Yes, I agree," he said, a slight smile playing yet again, on his seemingly frosty pale lips. Omi looked in wonder for a while. The boy seemed to be carved out of ice himself. He looked delicately enticing, and yet distant, aloof, and cold. He was like the dry ice that burned into one's skin when touched, and when the temperature rises, it simply vanishes into nothing. 

At long last the boy broke the silence again. "I must leave now."

"Will we meet again?"

"Perhaps."

The youth started to walk away, melting into the darkness. Omi stood behind, looking after him, speechless. All a sudden, though, he saw, to his surprise, the dark haired youth turning around and looking straight into his blue eyes with his deeper ones.

"Oh, and by the way, my name is Nagi. It is a pleasure to have met you, Omi."

______________________

Winter went on cheerfully, its glimmer of white never failing to polish the dusty city and the crowds with its fresh, crisp atmosphere. Around, in the flower shop, things were decked up with equally freshness, of pale white lilies, snow-drops, and white imported roses, those that smelled sweet, like the finest liquor from ancient Babylon, or like the dainty, almost faint scent of the white Evermind of a fabled land.

Omi sat around the pots, thinking. Deep was his thought, so deep that he failed to notice the insistent tapping on his back until he heard Ken speak his name out loud. Only the two of them were present then – the others were out.

"Hey, are you… all right?" the brunette asked kindly, concernedly. It was his nature, after all. Strong, reliable, compassionate – he was almost a normal boy next door, a boy anyone would have loved as an elder brother: he had so much love to give, and so much love to be given. Omi stared at him for a moment, pondering those thoughts. When Ken failed to get a reply, he pressed harder. "Are you ill? You look a little… sick."

_I'm… I'm lovesick._

Omi looked at his friend for a moment. "No, I'm fine. Maybe I'm just a little tired, that's all."

"Ah…" Ken's mouth snapped shut. He didn't feel like antagonizing the youth more, it seemed. Therefore, he shrugged loosely and smiled. "Ah, well, try not to get too pent up, all right? It's not good for health."

"Yeah, I know," he grinned. Trust him to be so… obvious.

"Right," Ken nodded, satisfied. He turned back to the plants he was tending earlier. "Go get some rest. I'll do the rest."

"No, that wouldn't be fair," Omi shook his head, getting up. "Besides, Yohji will be angry with me, were I to let you do that on your own."

"Hmm?" Ken replied absently. "Why would he be?"

Omi adjusted the pots, and then smiled in satisfaction. They were now perfectly straight. His job was finally complete, even after all the dawdling he'd been doing. "He likes you," he said bluntly.

"What ---"

But Omi had already disappeared up the stairs, leaving a very confused Ken below. The brunette rubbed his head. "Children these days… they seem to think of so many insane things!"

~*~*~*~*~

Omi flung himself onto the bed, groaning as he did. That dark haired youth… Nagi, was it? That youth… he just couldn't get him out of his mind!

However, he knew exactly what that feeling was. It was pleasant, like little fish floating in the pit of his stomach. Omi wouldn't deny it. He was only confused on whether it was simply a crush, puppy love, or perhaps it was really… there. Somehow, he admired the other youth's maturity, and strangely, he also felt attracted to his seeming bitterness. But he knew better.

Nagi wasn't entirely bitter. He had heard some sweetness in his laughter.

Melancholic, certainly, but sweet.

It wasn't that sort of sweetness, that sweetness from innocence. Rather, it was the sweetness of knowledge, and the ability to wield it. It seemed to come from an altogether distant place – a foreign land, so distant that even neither Omi nor Aya-kun has seen it. In front of that sweetshop, he had seemed ethereal. Omi found it hard to piece two-to-two together. But he wasn't about to give up.

Not yet.

He thought about his two friends, and how they were coping with things of this matter. Ken, Ken as he was, was oblivious to anything that was thrown onto his lap, no matter how apparent it did seem. It flustered them all up, to have him maneuver round all their snares to trap him together with the… one who dresses like a tart. Omi snuffed out a giggle as he remembered Nagi's description of each of his teammates. He suddenly fell silent.

What did Nagi think of _him_?

How would Nagi describe _him_?

He didn't know. He didn't want to risk knowing, either. He was happy with their 'friendship', and he didn't want to ruin it.

… Happy.

Happy but not sated.

Omi sighed deeply. Before, it was simply getting Ken and Yohji together. Now, it was more complex than before. Love is such a hard thing!

…Love?

Was it that, then? Was it not a crush, or mere infatuation?

Omi shook his head. He stood up, and picked his coat from the computer chair. Slipping it on, he walked out of the room, to the main door, and then to the streets outside.

~*~*~*~*~

The streets were cold, frozen over with the frigid white powder. He did love the snow, but at times it felt very uncomfortable, very chilly. He made his way round the roadside, along the pavement, passing by rows of shops. To his left, the trees stood naked, but still, as if unaffected by the chill. Suddenly, he stopped. He was standing on the very spot where he had met the youth, two weeks ago. Smiling blandly, Omi peeked through the window. The array of chocolates still sat as they were. Biting his lip, the blond decided to step in and look around.

The atmosphere in the little shop was sweet. It smelled of marzipan and rock candy, of ginger snaps and cocoa. It was colorful inside – there were rows of candy canes in the back wall, an array of rock candy, arranged to look like an angel in the center, and around, gummy sweets, jawbreakers, bubble gums, tiny parcels of biscuits and strange balls of sweets were piled in transparent glass containers by the side. There was a counter at the corner, and there, sat a jet-haired youth about twenty, humming as he summed up the money from the previous patrons.

He looked up unexpectedly, and Omi felt his breath caught in his throat. The youth's eyes were gray, depthless, shining as if with the kindled starlight of long ago. His hair was the color of midnight, gleaming in the white sunlight, and his skin seemed flawless, almost glowing. He looked very magical at the moment; that Omi was at a loss of words. At long last, the young man spoke.

"How may I help you?"

Omi was jolted to his senses. He blushed sheepishly. "Oh, I wanted to look around… um, I don't know… tell me what I should do?"

He clapped his mouth with his hands, realizing how ridiculous he sounded. The young man said nothing, smiling kindly. "You sound like you are thinking of a loved one."

Omi's eyes went wide.

"No, no, it isn't that obvious," the young man said, laughing a little. His voice was clear and silvery. "I've been here for quite some time. I do notice when people are in love. Well, you've come to the right place! If you and whomever you're with has a sweet tooth, this is the place where you'll find exactly what you need to send your message across!"

His jaw continued to hang in mid air.

"Hmm, I do know that you haven't said a single thing yet," the young man turned away to pick up a jar of peppermint sweets. "You have that confused look on your face. It'll pass. I can help you if you described them."

"What… what's your name?" Omi stammered unsurely. The youth smiled.

"I'm Elladan."

"That's a strange name… I'm Omi, by the way."

"It's rather old, I suppose," Elladan replied quietly. "Now, tell me about this person. You may omit the name if it'd please you."

"Well," Omi fiddled with the hem of his jacket. "Well, this person's a little… shy, bitter. It seems that way. But when I heard the laughter, I could sense the sweetness in this one person… it was sweet, but strange and foreign, though. It's complex, don't you think?"

"No," Elladan replied smilingly. He seemed to be dreamy. "I remember someone from long ago, and he was a lot like that. Seemingly shy and rough, but noble and kind. But now, for you. May I ask, is this person the boy from before, outside my shop window?"

Omi's jaw dropped open again. He turned red. But Elladan turned away, and walked to the window. "Bitter, yet sweet," Omi heard him murmur. Soon, he returned with a box in his hands and a smile upon his lips. "Try one."

Omi held a piece to his mouth, and nibbled a little. He grimaced. It was bitter! Elladan laughed. "No, no! Chew the whole thing!"

He obeyed, and to his delight, the insides oozed with sweetness, like that of rum boiled in honey and black cherries. It was distant, foreign, like that of a world far away. He opened his eyes to the youth's smiling face.

"This one tells of a story," Elladan said; "I tasted it as a child, long ago. My mother made it with her own hands. She said that it reminded her of her marriage with my father. They had no true love for one another… it had been a marriage of convenience. It was bitter, but when we were born, she felt the sweetness in it – that my father truly loved us all. He might have found it hard to show during those times, but, all the same, he did care."

"Where are your family now?"

"I've not seen my parents since they… passed. My sister is dead, and my brother is never coming back," he replied gently. "But hope remains. Here I stand." He said no more. Omi fell silent. Then he spoke.

"May I buy it, please?"

"No, you may not," Elladan said. Omi felt his eyes begin to water. "They're for free."

He took the box, and pushed it into Omi's hands. Nudging the boy out of the shop, he stood to say farewell. "Wrap it up well, Omi. And when you have tasted the bittersweet of romance, come and tell me. I should like to know about it."

_____________________

It was a frosty winter night. The streets though, were crowded with many people, and above them a new moon shone – the sign of a warmer spring to come. Warm lights flitted through the glass windows of shops, lit up with the shades of yellow and gold that melted the surreal white of the streets outside. Spring was already on its way, he knew – the air was a little warmer than it had been then. Already the snow on the streets were melting, enough to be packed into a slushy snowball and flung at others.

Omi had been standing there for the past week, in front of the shop. He had been waiting, waiting, but Nagi never came. He sighed, and looked on. A few schoolgirls passed by, giggling as they saw him. He sighed. Then, turning, he saw, to his joy, the very person he had been waiting for. Happily he skipped up to meet the younger youth.

"Hey!"

"Hello."

"I've been waiting here for ages now… about a week ago, every night, same place, same time… I thought you wouldn't turn up…" he blushed redder when he realized that he had gushed out words he meant to keep secret. "Uh, well…" he fell silent.

"Hmm… a nice box you have there. Who is it for?"

"Oh!" he looked up suddenly – he had forgotten the box! "I'm sorry! It's… it's for you."

"For me?" Nagi smiled slightly. He seemed touched. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Why didn't you come earlier, Nagi?" he asked timidly. Nagi looked at him and sighed.

"I was rather tied down for some time, lately," he replied, his breath was airy as he spoke. "I had a lot to accomplish, in so short a due time. Luckily for us, I decided to break from that daunting routine and asked time to screw himself."

"Why today?" Omi turned scarlet as he choked the next few words out, haltingly. "Is it… because it's Valentine's Day?"

For once, in Omi's entire disbelief, Nagi flushed pink. He tilted his head down, but it was evident that his face was colored with a hue of cherry.

"Wow."

"Yes…?"

"Never mind that wow," Omi said. He felt like slapping himself for ruining the moment. "So, we'll meet again someday?"

"Perhaps…"

They smiled at each other, and then turned away to face the opposite direction. Turning back, Nagi looked directly into Omi's blue eyes.

"I'll let you know when I can make it."

_______________________

Spring came early that year. Omi had been busy, stacking up plants, flowers and greens of every sort. It was fresh and vibrant, and the blond felt his energy recharged fully. That night, he flopped in front of the computer, deciding to have some peace of his own. He was startled when he saw a message for him… from a familiar name. Nagi.

"Hello," it had read. "You know me by my name, and therefore I shall use it. Please go to the shop, at precisely eight at night."

It was a short message, but an important one at that. Omi checked the time. Goodness! It was five minutes to eight! With a speed that Omi hardly knew he possessed, he skipped out of this room, past the main door and dashed down the streets. Soon, he was at the shop. But Nagi was nowhere to be seen! He sank to his knees and started to pant, burying his head in his hands. But no sooner did he decide to regret, a girl walked up to him.

"Are you Omi?"

He looked up. "Yes."

"Well, this is for you," she said, smilingly handing him a box. Then, she disappeared to join her friends. Omi stared at the box. In a thrice he had ripped the cover off. The lid was slid opened, and he saw, to his delight, that it was filled with rows of heart shaped white chocolate. He took one and bit into it. It was as sweet as honey, and as pure as milk.

Omi smiled. He understood the message that Nagi had sent. Like his own, Nagi had an opinion of Omi. He flipped the box, and found a small note attached to it. He smiled as he read the words. 

'Weiß - The man with freaky red hair, the jock, the one who dresses like a tart, and the pure angel in their midst.'

Omi gave a yell of delight, shocking the passers-by. He scrambled in through the doorway of the shop, and shouted for Elladan. He stopped, though, and went red. There was another person by the counter. He turned around, and smiled at Omi's outburst.

He looked very much like Elladan, with jet-black hair and gray eyes, sparkling with a strange light. Beside him, at the counter, Elladan looked up, and waved at Omi.

"Meet my long-lost twin brother, Elrohir."

~*~ The End ~*~

Note: Terrible piece. UGH! But Chris, uh, I think it's for you. Heh, heh. Sorry about the mistakes…

PS: Elladan and Elrohir don't belong to me either. They belong to someone else. If you're very hardworking, you might want to find out on your own!


End file.
